Rangers of the High Forest
by Cassie5squared
Summary: When ranger Tarl Felfaer's wife is killed by gnolls, he takes their infant son Rydel to be fostered in safety in Everlund. Sixteen years later, Rydel feels drawn to the forests in which he was born. What adventures lie ahead for this eager young man?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Forgotten Realms or any canonical characters or locations that may be mentioned. They are the property of Wizards of the Coast. All OCs are mine.

**Author's notes**: This story is mostly the result of playing around with making D&D character sheets, and then having the characters take off and start on their own adventures in my head. Therefore it _is_ OC-driven, and I apologise to anyone expecting otherwise. However, I don't intend for my characters to go around outdoing all the canonical characters; I'm just looking to create a tale of my own, that shows something of what ordinary people can be caught up in while the heroes are elsewhere.

Many, many thanks to my friend Rilwen, who is always a source of encouragement when I'm struggling with my writing and whose help and advice I couldn't manage without; and also to Lycaenion, whose enjoyment of the story helped persuade me to begin sharing it with others.

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

It was a long autumn, seeming almost to flow on from summer quietly without the usual seasonal tempests. The High Forest was rather beautiful at this time of year; leaves of every shade of red, yellow and green were in abundance, making up for the flowers that had provided colour throughout the spring and summer. As the seasons began winding down towards the quiet repose of winter, it seemed as though everyone and everything in the forest was exerting one last burst of activity to be ready for the cold season.

Tarl Felfaer woke to the sound of a familiar chittering outside his cave. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and sat up, blinking at the early morning sunshine coming through the window. The chittering came again, more insistently, and he chuckled. "All right, I'm coming," he said, climbing out of the bed in his nightshirt carefully so as not to disturb its other occupant, or the occupant of the little crib that stood beside it. He picked up a small pail of mixed nuts and seeds from the kitchen area and slipped outside, where a couple of squirrels and some small birds were waiting in the fenced-in dooryard.

They pounced rather greedily upon the first handful he strewed from the pail, causing him to laugh again. "You lot should start finding your own food of a morning," he chided fondly. One of the squirrels looked up at him with a bright eye, then went back to nibbling its hazelnut. Amused, Tarl scattered a few more handfuls and ducked back inside, leaving them to it.

As he put the pail back, he felt someone's arms slip around his waist from behind, and he turned round with a broad, almost silly grin. Mianna smiled up at him, her face surrounded by a halo of vivid red hair tousled from sleep. "They were here early today," she observed with a nod towards the door.

"I think they're just getting greedy," he chuckled, dipping his head for a kiss. She returned it happily and relaxed against him as he wrapped his arms around her. Tarl rested his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes contentedly, basking in her presence.

A wail from the crib broke their embrace. "I think Rydel's hungry," Mianna murmured, and she stole another kiss before heading over to pick up the fussing baby boy. Tarl smiled and left them to it as he went to wash and dress.

It was an uneventful morning tending to the kitchen garden and generally maintaining the little homestead; preparing for the winter was just as important for them as for everyone else in the forest. The only thing they hadn't yet managed to lay in was a good stock of firewood. Given the general opinion in the High Forest about cutting down living trees, such an endeavour wasn't as easy as it sounded.

Tarl intended to remedy their lack as soon as possible, and after a quick meal at midday he went rummaging for his axe, which had somehow secreted itself in the little outhouse.

"You're not going to be too long, are you?" Mianna asked with a little concern, as he emerged triumphantly.

"I'll be back before sundown." He leaned the axe against the fence and buckled on his swordbelt. "If I can't find what I'm after today, I'll just have to look tomorrow."

"Just be careful." She rested her hand on his for a moment, and then went back to weeding.

"I'm always careful." With that, he picked up the axe and rested it over his shoulder as he set out.

With such a riot of colourful life around him, it was hard to rush; everywhere he looked there were signs of creatures preparing for the cold season. Squirrels scampered about collecting nuts, rabbits nibbled at the grass in clearings, birds flitted overhead, and once or twice he spotted deer feeding without a care in the world.

He had set out south, but ended up heading towards the east after a while, having had no luck in his search. As he examined the area, the ranger frowned a little. It seemed quieter here, a little foreboding, for some reason he couldn't put his finger on. Still, with no overt threat that he could perceive, he felt secure enough to keep searching.

Finally, as the shadows started to lengthen a little, he found what he was looking for. An old tree, somewhat shorter than the others, seemed to have given up struggling with the sheer weight of ivy that had grown over it. He checked it over carefully, but was quickly satisfied that he had made the right choice. Deciding it was too late today to begin felling it, Tarl marked the tree and set off back, intending to return the next day.

His path home was considerably straighter than the meandering he had done earlier, although he wasn't in any particular hurry. He'd make it back well before sundown, as he had promised.

As he reached more familiar areas, however, he began to feel a twinge of concern. The unusual quiet seemed to have spread here as well; all the creatures he'd seen happily going about their business earlier were absent, despite the hours of daylight left. Tarl glanced around warily. Other than the silence, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, he stepped up his pace. Whatever was going on, he was not in the mood to be away from home if it turned out something really was wrong.

At one particular spot, however, he had reason to pause.

The little game trail itself was well-used and easy to follow, and the stream it crossed was the same one that ran by his home. It was the spoor left on the soft earth of the bank that made him stop short. Nothing with those marks should have been anywhere near this area…

He crouched down for a closer look, and within an instant of confirming his guess was up and running as hard as he possibly could for home, fear lending speed to his feet as he prayed he'd get there fast enough.

Gnolls. There were gods-damned _gnolls_ in his forest. He had only come across them once before, and luckily in plenty of company, but he still had strong memories of the devastation that marauding band had caused. With only Mianna and Rydel there -

He pushed that thought away and kept running. _No. I'll catch up to them, I'll stop them, they're not that far ahead, they shouldn't even be out in the damn daytime…_

Howls broke out ahead, and a moment later Tarl's sword and dagger were in his hands, axe abandoned on the trail. He knew this area like he knew Mianna's face, and rushed headlong without concern for stumbling or hindrance. He counted the voices he could hear howling - no more than three. That was better than he'd hoped; he could probably handle three if he took them by surprise.

Was that a flicker of movement up ahead? Had he caught up to them? Yes, there was one of them, standing right by his _garden fence, oh gods, no, please -_

And then a shrill scream rang through the forest, tearing a cry from him in response.

"_MIANNA_!"

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><p>The city of Everlund was a bustling place, full of merchants, adventurers and tradesmen of all descriptions. It was a good place for someone to blend in, and right now that was what Tarl wanted. Even unshaven, red-eyed, and drawn from several nights of uneasy and cut-short sleep, he was not particularly remarkable in this crowd. He moved through the streets a little cautiously, unused to cities after six years in the wild, and ever conscious of the precious little bundle held to his chest.<p>

After some confusion, and getting a little lost at one point, he finally found his way to the central market. This place was, if it were possible, even busier than the rest of the city. Luckily, it wasn't too hard to make out the large shrine opening onto the square, and he made his way over to it hastily.

A pale-haired, young-looking female cleric approached him with a smile as he entered. "Welcome to this place of worship." She looked him over, her smile fading a little at his obvious unhappiness, and added, "May I be of any assistance?"

"That would be… very kind," he said slowly. Now it came to it, this would be harder than he'd thought. "Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

"Of course. This way." She led him to a little curtained alcove that held a table and a few chairs. "My name is Gerine, servant of the Moonmaiden."

"Tarl Felfaer," he replied, sinking into the nearest seat.

Gerine settled in a chair facing him. "What is it you need help with?" As if on cue, Rydel woke, and whimpered fretfully in his carrier. Tarl lifted the little boy out gently, cradling him close and soothing him with a few soft words before he mustered the ability to meet the priestess's eyes again.

"This is Rydel," the ranger began, as steadily as he could. "His mother is no longer here to take care of him, and I can't do it alone. I came to ask if a better home could be found for him here."

"I'm certain it can be done," Gerine murmured, her expression softening as she gazed at the baby, now gazing around in contented interest. "But do you really think it's wise to separate a child from his father?"

"I can't look after him." Tarl swallowed hard, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I c-couldn't protect my - his mother when she needed me most, and I won't risk him as well. Please, find him a home where he can grow up safe."

In the face of his request - and his clear attempts to keep from breaking down as he made it - the Selunite bowed her head a little. "As you wish it. May I…?" She held her arms out, and he hesitated just long enough to bestow one kiss on Rydel's forehead.

"Goodbye," he murmured, blinking back tears as he settled his son into Gerine's arms. She smiled a little as the baby made a few burbling noises, and smoothed down his fluff of bright red hair.

"I will find a good home for him," she said gently. "My word on it."

"Thank you." He even managed a weak smile as he rummaged in his belt pouch. "Oh - I thought this might be of help." The little bag he set down clinked with the unmistakable sound of coins. "It's not much, but I think it should cover the things he'll need for a while."

"It should be a great help," she assured him. "I'll ensure good use is made of it."

"Thank you," he said again, quietly. "I'll be going, then. My gratitude to you, Gerine."

With an abrupt movement, he was out of his chair and striding away, out of the shrine.

_Leave now; don't look back, don't hesitate. You've done everything you can for him._

Clamping down on the rising urge to turn and snatch his little boy back, to keep him close no matter what, Tarl quickened his pace out of the shrine, across the market and out towards the southernmost gate of the city. He'd made his decision, he knew it was the best thing he could have done… but leaving his only child like this still tore at his heart.

Once he had finally got far enough away from Everlund and had made certain that he was alone, he sank down amongst the roots of an old tree and finally allowed himself to break down. Unaware of the few curious woodland creatures attracted by the sound, the young ranger buried his face in his arms and wept bitterly for everything he'd lost.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when the storm of his grief was over. The sun was descending into the west, and the shadows were long and deep, but given he wasn't even sure what time he'd left the city that didn't help much. Drained from the outpouring of emotion, he leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, letting the evening breeze cool his face a little.

After a little while, he pushed himself up and began walking again, looking for a decent place to spend the night. The walking itself seemed to clear his head, now that he had no other concerns hanging over him.

He had nothing left to lose now; all that was left was to return home and begin a new life alone. Once the winter was over, he could begin his defence of the forest's peace in earnest. This time, he would not fail those he promised to guard. And the gods help any gnoll he came across.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

It was a beautiful spring day in Everlund. As usual, it was also a busy day, and the streets were lively, especially at noon. Visiting merchants, tradesmen and craftsmen of every description, scholars, warriors, local rangers and adventurers from across Faerun went about their business with a decent level of goodwill.

Amongst the crowd was a young man of maybe sixteen years, who had just slipped out of a cooper's by the back door and was now heading towards the nearby Silver Moon Gate, the north-western gate of the city. Nothing about him particularly stood out, except perhaps his bright red hair, his relaxed smile, and the way he seemed to be trying a bit too hard to look nonchalant. His name was Rydel, and he was headed for the Stag at Bay, one of the more popular taverns in Everlund, for his midday meal.

The Stag at Bay, a favoured place for hunters and adventurers to gather, always had a full, noisy taproom at this time of day. Rydel slipped in and, after negotiating around a particularly riotous table, caught the eye of the owner, who was comfortably settled behind the bar. Belstram, an old ex-adventurer running slightly to seed, gave him a grin of recognition. "Back for more tales, lad? Your da'll be none too pleased if you're here till sundown again."

This evoked a wince - the young man clearly remembered all too well the tongue-lashing he'd received not a tenday ago for missing an entire afternoon's work - and a brief grin in return. "I'll be more careful this time," he replied, rummaging for a couple of coins. "A bit of bread and cheese, and some ale?"

"Coming right up. Find y'self a seat - if you're looking for something interesting to hear, bunch over by the window just came in from up near Silverymoon." Belstram nodded at the group in question, a somewhat rowdy but cheerful cluster of about a dozen humans and dwarves.

Rydel's face lit up, and he headed over towards them, finding a seat in a corner nearby. He'd long since learned that the best way to hear stories from strangers was to make himself unobtrusive; nobody paid attention to a boy barely of age who was just looking for an exciting story.

As he found an unoccupied stool, however, he was spotted by one of the adventurers in question. "Well, if it isn't young Rydel! Why don't you join us, lad? We've a few tales you might care to hear."

It was Tastan, one of the local rangers who had a bit of a reputation for signing up with adventurers as a guide and winding up in somewhat madcap adventures. Rydel had known him for several years now, being one of the most enthusiastic audiences for any tales he cared to share. If he was involved with this group, it would likely be an interesting account.

Needing no further bidding, Rydel tugged his seat over and made himself comfortable at the table. Tastan proceeded to whisk him through the introductions with a speed that left the young man a bit dazed. He only picked up a couple of names - Leumas, a dark-haired, laid-back fighter who was apparently the leader of the little band, and Domnar, who looked to be the oldest dwarf there and seemed rather reserved, at least compared to the rest of his rowdy companions.

With only a little encouragement from the rest of the group, who all seemed rather pleased with themselves, Tastan quickly launched into a thrilling tale of the trip they'd had from Silverymoon. While such a journey was not _usually_ fraught with dire peril - it was a trip that could generally be made in a few days without any major hindrances - a fight with an unusually stubborn band of bugbears had forced them up into the Nether Mountains.

Rydel listened in awed silence, barely paying attention to his meal due to his absorption in the narrative. They had spent a tenday or so navigating the inhospitable terrain, hindered by trying to avoid orc hunting bands. The savage tribes had been growing in number, and after the harsh winter were clearly in need of food. It had mostly been Tastan's extensive knowledge of the area that had enabled their survival, at least to hear him tell it - and he did so with more than a little swagger, although the occasional snort from Domnar served to make it clear there was a fair bit of embellishment going on.

They hadn't been able to avoid one encounter, however; coming down into the foothills, a band of maybe thirteen orcs had crossed their trail, and decided to track them. Luckily for Tastan and Domnar's band, they became aware of the pursuit just in time. "Thanks to Obryn here for that; we'd have been far worse off if he hadn't spotted them coming," the ranger said cheerily, clapping the youngest dwarf on the shoulder. Obryn just grinned and took another gulp of ale, basking in the praise.

A lengthy description of the battle was clearly forthcoming, but at that juncture Rydel, having just noted the sun's position, started up from his seat hastily. "I'm sorry to leave you like this, but Father'll be after my hide if I stay any longer," he said, a little mournfully.

Tastan chuckled and gave him an understanding nod. "Go on with you then," he replied. "Come and find me this evening, or tomorrow maybe; I hate leaving a tale unfinished."

"Don't we know it," Domnar muttered, though without any real rancour. "Ye've only been tellin' 'em since we got out o' Silverymoon."

Rydel gave them both an endearing grin. "I'll look forward to it," he said brightly, grabbing the last of his cheese off his plate and heading out of the tavern hurriedly.

It wasn't quite as late as he had thought, he realised once he got out onto the street, but all the same it was probably for the best if he got back to the workshop soon. Munching on his cheese, he made his way back at a quick walk, trying to think up a good explanation for disappearing this long when he knew perfectly well he was supposed to be working. It wasn't his fault the idea of wandering the wilds was more interesting than barrels, though.

He ducked back into the building, intending to get right back to planing barrel staves, but his attempt at stealth was not enough to hide him from his father's eye, and he froze as a stern voice rang out. "And just where've you been, hm?"

"I, ah…" Rydel turned to face the burly man with a sheepish smile that quickly faded at the look he received.

It was clear excuses would not be of much help this time. Fiskal's expression was one of thorough disapproval beneath his untidy, wood-shaving-decorated blond hair as he regarded his son. "Well?"

"Just up to the Stag to get something to eat, I didn't even finish before I started back, I -"

"It can't take that long just to get a bite, lad. We have customers to satisfy, and if you're not pulling your weight, we don't get paid. You spend more time round those rangers and other mad folk than you do at your work. You're going to be the ruin of me, slipping off to hear stories." Fiskal shook his head a little, dislodging a few of the wood shavings. "Who was it today?"

Rydel fidgeted a bit guiltily. "Tastan just got in with a company from Silverymoon. But I really did hurry back as soon as I got him to stop talking," the young man protested feebly.

There was an exasperated groan, and Fiskal shook his head again. "Get on back to work, then, and don't let me catch you slipping in like this again."

Rydel meekly nodded and entered the workshop without another word. His father watched him go with an expression that seemed to combine exasperation, affection and, strangely enough, a little sympathy. As the rasp of plane against wood reached him, Fiskal sighed quietly and headed back into the main shop.

"I guess it's in the blood, lad," he murmured as he picked up the account book. "Just wish your head'd stop listening to it so much."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

****Disclaimer:**** I do not own Forgotten Realms or any canonical characters or locations that may be mentioned. They are the property of Wizards of the Coast. All OCs are mine.****

****Author's notes:** **Thanks to Rilwen Shadowflame and Lycaenion, as ever, for their encouragement and help.

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><p>"…and then, if ye'll believe it, the beast up and charges at me like it never felt the arrows at all!" The old hunter sat back and took a swig of his drink, hiding his grin at his wide-eyed audience. Roderrak was a talkative man, and enjoyed sharing his tales with anyone who cared to listen. This evening, he was telling the story of his hunt for a dire badger, which had seriously hurt a young herbalist near the High Forest.<p>

"So what did you do?" Rydel urged, eager to hear how this tale would end. "Try to shoot it in a more vulnerable spot?"

"Hah!" The grizzled old man slapped the table with one hand and sat up straight. "Didn't I tell ye I'd run out o' shafts? In any case, the last thing t'do with a beast like that comin' at ye's to stand still and shoot at it some more. A stronger defence's what y'need, somethin' like a spear. I tell ye straight, when those things get mad they don't stop t'smell the goatsfoot."

He took another drink, then put the tankard down and began acting out the scene with his hands. "Lucky for me I'd brought a spear, so I hunkered down and set it in the ground so's it wouldn't slip. Great ugly thing came right at me, I don't reckon it even saw it. Ran right onto the spear and set up the loudest damned racket I've heard in a long time, but it was good and stuck."

Ignoring Rydel's wince at the thought, Roderrak carried on, gesturing enthusiastically. "'Course, I didn't leave it t'suffer - would'a been more cruel than it should've. Quick knife t'the back of the neck, and that was that. Took the pelt, and gave it to Enthen on m'way back. Poor lass deserved t'know it was gone after the maulin' it gave her."

The young cooper nodded slightly and sighed. "It's a shame it couldn't have been caught before it hurt her," he ventured.

"Heh, who'd've caught it? There's never many out that way these days. Never enough, anyway."

"People keep saying that, but why don't more _go_ out there, then? Accidents like that wouldn't happen so often."

"'Cause it's not as easy as it sounds, lad." Roderrak sighed and shook his head. "Ye've got to be able to handle all sorts o' weather an' trouble out there, while knowin' the only person y'can rely on to be there t'help is y'self. It's a hard life, an' it takes a tough 'un to cope with it."

"You've said enough times you're too old, and you still do it," Rydel countered.

Roderrak laughed. "I'm old 'cause I learned _how_ t'survive, which is more'n I can say for some who tried. Besides, these old bones ain't lost all their spring yet."

Unable to resist smiling at the garrulous hunter's confidence, Rydel glanced out of the nearest window, and noted ruefully that the evening light had almost completely faded. "I'd like to stay longer, but I'd best be getting back before the shop gets locked up for the night."

"Aye, go along with ye, then. Drop by another time, it's always good to talk to a young 'un like y'self." Roderrak raised his tankard as his companion got up, and chuckled to himself.

The cool spring evening was refreshing and peaceful, and Rydel found himself thinking back on the tale he'd heard. If there had only been more people out in the High Forest, maybe Enthen wouldn't have been hurt, and the dire badger wouldn't have needed killing. Maybe, if he'd known more about tracking monsters in the wild, he could have helped.

He sighed again and kicked a pebble absently. All these rangers and hunters and adventurers he looked up to, who were always off doing important things and helping others… it was such a far cry from making barrels all day every day. "Why can't I be the one doing interesting things?" he muttered, and then frowned slightly.

_No, really… why can't I? What's to stop me?_

He turned the idea over in his mind a few times, beginning to consider the possibilities. He had more than enough friends to give the advice he needed, and likely some tutelage in survival as well. Maybe he could talk to them some time. Wheedling weaponry lessons out of them had never been a problem, either, and he knew he wasn't a poor marksman with a longbow these days. And even if there weren't enough people out there these days, there were _some_, and with any luck he could persuade one of them to teach him a bit more…

All too soon, he found himself at the door of the shop. Somewhat disgruntled at how short the walk was, he stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind him before heading off to bed.

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><p>Over the next few weeks, Rydel refined his plans with the help of some of his friends; the experienced travellers were more than happy to give him the advice and tutoring he requested, though it was hard to make time for lengthy lessons. His free time was limited to evenings now, and for some reason Fiskal was having him work late more often than not these days.<p>

Still, he persevered, and the work began to have some noticeable effects. Daily weapons practice was building his muscles and sharpening his aim; his childhood studies of nature were expanded on and reinforced; some of his friends introduced him to other acquaintances of their who could also pass on useful tips. Even if he still had nowhere near the full array of skills and knowledge a real ranger would need to survive, the young man knew he was taking the first small steps that might just enable him to survive long enough to learn more.

Of course, with all this preparation and planning, it seemed as though there was a little spring of anticipation constantly bubbling up within him, and it manifested itself rather visibly. Where he had previously been rather subdued in his father's shop, he now often had a broad grin, even while working on the dustiest tasks, and whistled or sang a few snatches of songs where he had previously worked in resigned silence.

Merely planning and preparing couldn't go on for ever, of course, and during one evening meeting with Tastan, who was recently back from another trip north, the burning question was finally dropped.

"So, when do you plan on setting out?" the ranger asked as he watched Rydel practicing archery. By now, hitting the mark was growing much easier for the young man as long as it was stationary. At the unexpected query, however, the latest shot flew very wide and barely hit the edge of the target.

"I, ah… I don't know," Rydel muttered as he went to retrieve the shaft.

"Well, you're not just doing all this training just for entertainment, are you?"

"No, of course not! I just…" Not certain how to put it, the copper-haired boy fidgeted with the arrow, ostensibly checking it for damage. "It's… I've obligations, as well."

"You mean you're worried about your father, right?"

Rydel's silence and continued fidgeting was answer enough.

"For what he'll say about this idea of yours, or for leaving him to handle the shop without you?"

"Well… both, really, I guess. He's said often enough what he thinks about people who go living in the wilderness, and…" Rydel stared at the floor, his shoulders slumped. All the things he'd tried not to worry about were coming to the fore, and suddenly his dream seemed much less tangible with real responsibilities to consider.

"Here's some advice for you, lad." Tastan slung his arm around his young companion's shoulders and took the arrow off him. "Instead of trying to do all this plotting and planning in secret, maybe you should just tell him. He's your father, I'm sure if he cares for you he'll understand. He might not be happy - we've done our damnedest to make sure you appreciate there are risks, and I'm sure he knows them too - but he'll hardly try to lock you up in Everlund forever if this's what you want."

Rydel hesitated. "Even if he doesn't take it badly, there's still the shop to think of."

"And there're always some lads looking to get apprenticed and learn a steady trade. I can easily get someone to point them in the right direction once your da's got the idea in his head at all."

"_If_ he does," Rydel muttered a little mulishly. This earned him a reproving tap with the arrow and a grin.

"Enough of that. You don't know till you try, and I'm sure you'll agree that giving up at the first bump in the road's no way for you to be acting."

In the face of such good-natured encouragement, there wasn't much the young man could do to argue, and he found himself smiling back. "I think so too. I can worry about the way things might go _if_ they happen that way, right?"

"Now you're getting it." Tastan beamed. "And we can talk about how to approach the matter later. Right now -" he handed the arrow back - "I want to see some bullseye hits."

Rydel's smile turned lopsided as they walked back to where he'd left his bow. For all his bragging and overconfidence, Tastan was skilled, dependable, and helpful when it counted, and if he was lending his aid to this issue, it was more likely than not that it would be resolved reasonably.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

It was almost a tenday later, and Rydel was still nerving himself up to talk to his father. He kept imagining the worst outcomes; a fight, a complete explosion, the pair of them never seeing eye to eye again - and even if it didn't come to that, he wondered if it wouldn't be a let-down for his father, after all this time trying to raise him with a decent trade. And yet the tales told at the Stag at Bay, the nightly practice and the lessons in herbalism, in tracking, in survival… they only served to fuel the rising urge to be out there in the wilds.

In the end, it was an unusually frustrating day that finally pushed him to make up his mind.

Around mid-morning, some incompetent wizard had set off a magic device that went berserk and escaped from his laboratory, causing a great deal of havoc throughout a number of shops - including Fiskal's. The rest of Rydel's morning was spent putting the shop back in order and calling the wizard very rude names under his breath. In the afternoon, he'd found himself dealing with a rather irate customer who wanted to complain about… something. The man wouldn't say what, exactly; he seemed to be mostly looking for a reason to raise his voice and point his finger a lot. He kept demanding to see Fiskal, who had - unfortunately for Rydel - left a little while before to deal with another order.

By the time his father returned, Rydel was barely keeping a lid on his own temper. He did not like being shouted at, especially when he didn't know what for, and handed the offensive man over to Fiskal with visible relief before making his escape back to the workshop. There he went at his work with rather more vigour than strictly necessary, which accidentally resulted in the loss of two barrel staves due to over-zealous planing. Needless to say, that didn't go down well, and he had to spend extra time replacing them.

Once he finally got away, things seemed to be looking up a little - right till he got to his evening practice, where he discovered that Tastan was caught up in some sort of dispute and would therefore have to skip this evening. In a bout of sheer annoyance, Rydel threw up his hands and stormed off, swearing under his breath, to take a walk around the city instead. He didn't feel like going back home just yet.

Eventually he found himself at the southern gate and, for lack of other ideas, headed out while there was still some daylight left, with a nod to the guards. Leaning against the cool stone, he gazed out at the distant borders of the High Forest to the southeast. _Somewhere_ out there was his place, not here in the city, however appealing it might be to some. He sighed and closed his eyes, letting the breeze cool his face and temper.

Thinking back on the day's trials, he compared them to previous similar events, and shook his head slightly. Did he really want to put up with petty annoyances like that for the rest of his life, staying within the walls of a single city? (Standing right outside the walls as he currently was didn't exactly count as leaving, in his opinion.) Was it really just concern for his father that prevented him leaving? Tastan had already said plenty regarding that.

_Or is it that I'm delaying because I'm afraid?_ he wondered suddenly. There was a great difference between tales told in the safety of a familiar taproom, with all one's friends around, and actually facing the dangers being talked about. If it came down to a life-or-death situation, could he really stand and face it?

The thought of turning tail and running from something just because it might hurt him suddenly incensed him. _I don't know until I try, and giving up even before I try is spineless. I'm not that cowardly,_ he thought, remembering Tastan's words.

With that, he stalked back through the gates and headed for home, expression set as he made definite plans to replace his previous vaguely-defined hopes. Tomorrow he was going to talk to his father and explain himself, and begin getting supplies together. Within a tenday, even if the idea met with complete disapproval, Rydel was determined that he would be out of the city and heading for the forest.

_I'm not going to be afraid, and I'm not staying here to be driven mad by wizards and idiots for the rest of my life._

Though he wasn't aware of it, he was smiling broadly by the time he reached home. He could do this, no matter what anyone else said.

* * *

><p>A twinge of nerves ran up Rydel's spine as he heard heavy footsteps coming in the front door the next morning. While he'd gone over his arguments several times, this was still not something he had been looking forwards to. In a bid to stay steady, he bent over the cask he was working on and set about placing the final hoop.<p>

Fiskal glanced into the workshop and smiled slightly on seeing him hard at work. "Nearly done there?"

"Almost," Rydel replied, tapping the hoop securely into place.

He was rewarded with a fond chuckle. "I'll leave you to it, then."

The hoop slipped into place at that moment, and Rydel nearly leapt up, putting his tools aside hurriedly as Fiskal turned away. "Ah - before you do, I, er… I wanted to talk to you about something, Father."

In his nervousness, he failed to notice the way his father went still for a moment before turning back to him. "Can't this wait, lad?" The old cooper was no longer smiling.

"I've been putting it off as it is. If I put it off any longer I - I might just give up."

Fiskal raked back his thinning hair and sighed. "Get it out, then."

Rydel hesitated a moment, fidgeting with a loose thread on his tunic hem, before nerving himself up to speak. "I'm sorry, Father, but I don't think I can stay in Everlund for ever. I know it's a good place and all… I just feel like I need to get beyond it."

Fiskal shook his head. "You've spent too much time with -"

"No, don't blame them, this is what _I_ want!" the young man protested, waving his hands in mild frustration as he tried to express himself. "I'm tired of looking at the same things day in and day out. I want to be out there in the forests, somewhere I can experience all the things I've only heard of. I've been learning to take care of myself, and if I go now while it's still coming on to summer there'll be plenty of time for me to learn more. I can do this. I swear, I'll be all right."

"And who's to help me with the shop while you're off doing whatever you plan on doing?" Fiskal's tone was slightly accusing now.

"An apprentice, maybe?" Rydel hesitated. "I was told there were people who'd be looking for work like this, something good and steady…" The unreadable expression on his father's face made him falter. This couldn't end well.

"Isn't it good enough for you, lad?" the cooper said quietly, and the disappointment in his tone made Rydel inwardly squirm. "I've raised you to a decent craft, somewhere safe, and you're asking to leave it behind to go and follow ideas people've been putting in your head about adventures."

"All I want is a chance to try. I'm not unhappy that you taught me - it's good to know I have something I can do well, and I'm grateful for it - but the idea of doing _this_ for the rest of my life…" The young man gestured around at the workshop. "I'm not sure I can. Can't I at least go and find out if it's what I'll be happy doing?"

Fiskal regarded his son quietly for a few moments. It was plain to see that Rydel truly wanted this. Any direct opposition would likely just cause bad feelings, but the very idea of letting a boy of sixteen - _his_ boy - just walk off into the wild was something he clearly couldn't help but want to put a halt to.

"Don't," he said seriously, raising one hand as Rydel moved to speak again. "Don't go trying to talk me round any more, just now. I've heard what you said, and I need to think about it. Give me some time, all right?"

"How long?" This was going a little better than the young man had hoped, but he was still a little bothered about the potential for things to go wrong. _Please don't let him name some ridiculous time._

"Give me… give me till tomorrow, and we can talk then. That way we both have a chance to sleep on this. All right?"

Rydel relaxed imperceptibly, and even managed a brief smile. "All right," he echoed with just a tinge of relief. Then, determined to show he was a responsible adult and not a whining child, he nodded slightly and went back to work as though the matter was closed for now. Unwilling to say any more for the moment, Fiskal went back into the main shop quietly and sank down on the stool behind the counter.

This wasn't going to be an easy decision.

* * *

><p>That evening, at his favourite tavern, Fiskal raised the issue with some of his own friends over a few tankards of butternut beer. "What am I supposed to do with that lad?" he concluded with a sigh.<p>

Burtanu, a dark-skinned Turmish woman whose clay-stained clothes marked her as a potter, leaned back in her seat, sipping her drink meditatively for a moment before she replied. "For what it's worth, I don't think forbidding him altogether will solve anything."

"Aye," agreed the half-elven man sitting opposite Fiskal. "If you try to constrain him too tightly, he'll end up defying you and just taking off on his own." Koranis smiled ruefully. "Though I can understand why you'd rather he didn't."

"It _is_ hard to stop lads that age from doing something they've set their hearts on," Therys added. "All four of mine were the same; try to lead 'em away from it, and they'll stick to it firmer. Best way to deal with it's to let 'em try and find out it's not all they were expecting." She gave the cooper a sympathetic look.

"But what if he takes to it anyway?" Fiskal fretted. "And… well, anything can happen out there. We've all heard enough about orcs, or dragons, or…"

"Then ask one or two folk who know the area to follow after him a bit." Koranis shrugged. "They're smart enough to keep out of his sight unless he ends up in real trouble."

"If you really want to try stopping him before he leaves," Burtanu offered, "you could try giving him more responsibilities over the shop. That would keep him busy enough he wouldn't think any further about leaving."

Fiskal brightened up a little at the idea. "It might, at that. He does what's asked of him, even if he doesn't like it."

"I can't see that working." This came from the only member of the group who'd not spoken yet. Rodther was an former adventurer, who'd settled down in Everlund as a lampwright. He didn't often say much, but when he did weigh in on a debate it was usually in support of the wisest move. "If he's been thinking about this so long, you won't put him off by making him busier. He'll just get more and more resentful that you're keeping him away from what he wants. He's not stupid."

"You figure he'd take off even with that?"

"Nothing more likely." Rodther took a drink, then set down his tankard and glanced around at the group. "You don't need me to remind you he's got the blood of a ranger. Looks to me like the call of the wild's reached him."

"You really think I ought to let him go, then?" Fiskal sighed.

The old lampwright leaned on the table, tapping it with one finger to emphasise his words. "I know you care for that lad like he's your own flesh and blood - you've raised him well, and you should be proud of how he's turned out. But if his heart's leading him elsewhere, you'll be doing better by him to let him follow it."

With clear reluctance, Fiskal nodded and sat back in his seat, raking one hand through his hair.

"It'll be easier on both of you if he leaves with goodwill," Koranis pointed out.

The cooper managed a smile. "I know," he replied, "but getting my head round it all's going to be the hardest part, and I promised him an answer by tomorrow." He gazed into his tankard as though hoping for inspiration, and then gave up and drained it. "I think I'll call it a night. I should get some peace and quiet to think over all this, and I won't get it here."

He pushed back his seat and stood up. "My thanks for all your advice; it's been a great help, as always." They responded with cheerful farewells, and he made his way out of the tavern, narrowly avoiding a rather giddy couple in the doorway.

The centre of Everlund was a little quieter at this time of day; it was a place for peace and privacy, whereas most of the inns and taverns were built close to the city walls, to allow a fair level of noise without disturbing the quieter areas. Accordingly, Fiskal headed for the centre of the tree-strewn city to think over the advice he'd been given.

As the waxing moon rose over the Silver Marches, it glanced down on the solid figure, resting on a fallen tree that had been made into a seat. He had spent over an hour lost in thought, in the near-darkness, and wasn't any closer to a decision than when he'd sat down.

The moonlight shining through the swaying branches of the trees around him caught his attention, and he looked up, unable to help a smile at the sight of the stars glittering and the moon serenely glowing amongst them, without a cloud to be seen. For a brief moment, he was captivated; it wasn't often that he even bothered to look at the night sky, and rarer yet that it was so clear.

In that moment, he thought he understood why Rydel wanted to become a ranger. There were beautiful things in the wilds of Faerûn that often went unseen or ignored, because so few people went to the effort of looking; Rydel wanted to be one of those few, to look for beauty even in things that seemed distant and uninteresting to others. Such a life was dangerous, but to the one who chose it, the rewards far outweighed the risks.

Fiskal remained where he was for a little while longer before a chill breeze reminded him that this probably wasn't the best place to spend the night. He stood slowly, wincing slightly at how his limbs had stiffened from the cold and lack of movement, and set off home feeling more at ease about his decision. It wasn't so hard to make after all.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

When Rydel came downstairs the next morning, he was doing his best to conceal his nerves. Given their previous arguments on the subject, he wasn't very hopeful about his father's impending decision. Therefore, it was something of a surprise when he entered the workshop to come face to face with his father smiling. A resigned and slightly pensive smile, to be sure, but a smile nonetheless.

"Come in, lad," Fiskal said, waving him into the room. Rydel obeyed quietly, not quite sure what to make of this, and began fidgeting with his sleeve hem.

"You said you'd make your mind up…" he began, but stopped on seeing Fiskal's nod.

"I did say that. It took a lot of thinking, and talking it out, but I've made my mind up. Listen, Rydel… are you sure you want to go and be a ranger? Is it what you really, truly want? Even with how dangerous it is?"

Rydel took a deep breath and met his father's eyes squarely. "Yes."

Fiskal nodded again, letting out a sigh. "All right, lad. Then I'm not going to stand in your way any longer." He didn't seem particularly elated about it, but Rydel's grin was enough to make him smile in return.

"Really?"

"Yes, really." He put one hand on Rydel's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You're a grown man now, you can make these decisions for yourself…" A brief expression of shame crossed his face. "And I'm sorry I've not acted like it."

"You're my father, I'd sort of expected you to worry a bit," the young man reassured him. "I'll do my best to be careful."

Fiskal gazed at his son's earnest smile for a moment, and then enveloped him in a fierce hug. "You'd best be, lad," he said quietly, "or I'll come after you and drag your sorry backside back here."

"I promise," Rydel managed, once he could breathe again. An impish smile appeared on his face. "I'll even visit from time to time to let you know I'm all right."

"Here now, don't go getting too far ahead of yourself. You may not find it's all you're imagining, you know."

"I know." The cheeky smile faded briefly, then returned. "But I'd rather think about liking it until I get solid reasons not to, instead of worrying that I won't till I change my mind."

Fiskal tousled Rydel's hair fondly. "No getting you down, is there?" The young man pulled a face and tried to smooth down the resulting mess. Fiskal just chuckled, and then turned businesslike. "Let's not waste any more time talking for now, then. We've an order to fill, and I figure we'll be busy this highsun."

Rydel blinked. "…What with?"

"Getting some proper equipment together for you, lad." Fiskal looked amused at the blank stare he received. "What, you think I'd let you wander off with just the clothes you're wearing?"

"Well, I… actually… I've been planning for a while now, so I have most of what I'll need," Rydel admitted sheepishly.

"Oh? And when were you going to let me know?"

"…I wasn't sure," the young man mumbled, hedging a bit and looking rather guilty. "Soon, though."

Fiskal snorted. "Hrm. I'm sure. Still, we can talk more about this come highsun. For now, let's get that order finished, shall we?"

Without further discussion, Rydel nodded and made his way over to the barrel staves he'd been working on yesterday, while Fiskal disappeared into the main shop to open up for the day. Both were smiling broadly; it felt much better to have had the discussion, and to have found that it wasn't as bad as they had thought it would be.

* * *

><p>The first task when they left the shop at highsun was locating Tastan. As he had been the mastermind behind the practical side of Rydel's plans, they naturally wanted to talk to him about finalising things. Luckily, they managed to find him without too much trouble in his favourite tavern, dealing with the remnants of a hangover. He seemed rather worried when he saw Fiskal approaching, but once the situation was explained, Tastan looked unaccountably relieved and agreed to help them out without further ado.<p>

A little while later, having ascertained exactly what Rydel still needed for his journey, the three of them set out to buy what they could. Fiskal wanted to get back to his shop before too long; leaving it closed for any length of time in the middle of the day bothered him somewhat, especially when it was approaching the busy season.

Luckily, it wasn't too hard to get the items they were looking for, and soon father and son parted ways with Tastan, carrying several parcels each as they made their way back to the shop. Fiskal glanced over at Rydel, who seemed to be completely incapable of losing his smile at the moment. "Hmph. That glad to be getting away from me, are you?" he teased.

The young man blinked at the unexpected question, and turned almost as red as his hair. "No, that's not why I'm - I mean - of course not," he replied, a little shamefaced. "I'm just looking forwards to seeing the things I've been hearing about for so long."

Fiskal just chuckled. "You're too easy to rib, lad. I never thought for a moment it was anything else. Though I do have to ask just when you're planning on setting off, so's I know how long I've got to fix things so I'm not left short-handed."

This made Rydel frown a little as he considered. "I'd been thinking about seven or eight days from now, really," he admitted. "But if that's not enough, I'll wait a bit longer."

"I can manage with that. The main thing I need -" Fiskal cut off as they reached the shop, and spent a few moments fishing for the key before he was able to open the door. They piled the parcels neatly behind the counter for the moment, and then he turned back to Rydel. "What was I saying? Oh, right - main thing I need's an apprentice or two, and like you said to me the other day, I'm sure I can find some decent lads."

"Tastan told me he might know a few," Rydel ventured. A customer entered the shop at that point, and Fiskal turned to deal with them, sparing Rydel a nod of acknowledgement as the young man slipped into the workshop. One way or another, the issue would be dealt with without a fuss.

* * *

><p>It was a beautiful morning, seven days later. The sky was tinged with gold as the sun peeped over the horizon, and Everlund was stirring. In the shadow of the southernmost gate of the city, a small group was gathered to wish the young man in their midst well on his journey.<p>

Each of them hugged him, and said a few quiet words, and received a wobbly smile and thanks in return. One or two of them slipped a little gift into his belt pouch for him to find later. Several of them were having difficulty hiding their real feelings on the matter, and in consequence nearly left him breathless with their hugs.

Finally, Rydel turned to his father. The solid older man managed a real smile, and embraced him warmly. "Take care, lad, for my sake," he said quietly, and felt a fierce hug in return.

"I will. Promise." It was slightly muffled, but sincere.

For a long moment, father and son stood unmoving, before the utterly unsympathetic bray of a nearby mule called them back to the moment. As they broke apart, Fiskal took his son's hand. "Remember what you said about coming back to see me every once in a while, won't you?" he said earnestly.

"'Course. Nothing'll stop me." Rydel's buoyant grin was enough to make the rest of the group chuckle a little, and Fiskal gave him a faint smile in return. An awkward silence descended for a few moments, nobody really sure what to say, until Rydel abruptly picked up his backpack and shrugged it on over his cloak.

"If I'm going, I'd best be off, or we'll be here all day," he said brightly, giving his father one last handclasp and nodding to everyone else. "I go, then." With this farewell, he raised one hand to them all and set off through the gate with a confident spring in his step.

Fiskal blinked rapidly, in an attempt to hide the surge of emotion that threatened to overtake him as he watched the young man he'd raised from a baby walk into the unknown. "Gods preserve him," he murmured as Rydel shrank into the distance.

"I'm sure they will," Rodther replied, a smile creasing his tanned face. "In all my years on the road, always seemed to me like the gods favour those who take their fate into their own hands. He'll be just fine."

* * *

><p>By highsun, Rydel had soaked himself halfway to his knees in a stream, had to climb out of a ditch, got a thorn embedded in his hand whilst climbing out, and been laughed at by a bird. (He wasn't quite convinced of the last, but he had heard <em>something<em> that sounded like laughter, and the bird was the only living thing he'd seen around that could make that sort of noise.)

On top of all that, he was starting to get tired, he was far too warm, and he was hungry. This was not how he had imagined the beginning of his adventure would go.

Deciding now was as good a time as any to take a brief rest, he chose a comfortable-looking spot and sank down, shrugging off his pack and cloak with relief and putting his swordbelt aside. The first task he set to was getting the thorn out of his hand - easily done once he'd located the sewing kit in his pack. Years of working with wood had accustomed him to fishing out splinters, and this wasn't much different.

Once that was done with, he took a hard roll out and lay back in the grass, gazing up at the sky as he ate. It was hard to be frustrated whilst watching the clouds drift by, and soon enough he felt as high-spirited as when he'd set out. A bit of water, having to climb out of unexpected ditches - it wasn't that harmful, after all. His leggings were almost dry by now in any case.

The warmth of the day made him a little drowsy, and for perhaps half an hour he lay there, basking in the sunlight. A rustling in the grass nearby, however, snapped him out of it in an instant, and he sat up sharply. "What -?"

A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he spotted a rabbit making a frantic dash away from him. Amused by his own jumpiness, he decided now was as good a time as any to get on the move again, and pushed himself to his feet. After a few lazy stretches, he rolled up his cloak, put his pack back on and tucked the cloak into a convenient space between two straps.

A glance westwards told him just how far he'd come already; Everlund was a small lump in the distance. A broad grin crossed his face, and he turned towards the east and the distant shadow of the High Forest. He'd never been so far away from the city in his life, and he felt like revelling in his freedom. Humming an old tune he'd heard often in the taverns, he straightened up, adjusted his swordbelt and set out again with a spring in his step.

Right now, he thought, life could definitely be worse.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

It was two days since Rydel had left Everlund, and right now he was wondering why. The weather, after being nothing but sunny for the past few days, had decided to shift to a heavy downpour instead. He'd made camp under a lone oak tree, which had kept off the worst of the elements, but not all. The sound of the rain hammering on his tent had woken the young man before dawn, and despite trying to ignore it he had been unable to get back to sleep.

Naturally, he couldn't make a fire and had to manage with a cold breakfast. Everything felt chilly and a little damp from the amount of moisture in the air, it still hadn't stopped raining, he had aches all over from the unusual amount of walking he'd done, and to top it all off his face was sore from sunburn. Red hair and pale skin that burned quickly went together all too well, and he hadn't thought to take any precautions to shield himself for the past two days.

Glumly, he pulled the tent flap open and tied it back to let a little air in, then lay down on his bedroll and propped his chin on his arms, staring out at the rather depressing weather. "This is not as exciting as I thought it would be," he muttered. Nothing more dangerous than a ditch had crossed his path since he set out, and he was becoming rather disillusioned.

He rolled onto his back restlessly and tried to ignore the pattering of rain. This forced inactivity was already chafing at him a little, and to make matters worse, he was well aware he had not been making as much progress as he could have been. Those he'd talked to about it back home had said that two solid days of travel straight across the open wilderness usually put them within the High Forest's borders. Considering that he hadn't been pushing himself very hard and the rough terrain made walking tougher anyway, he estimated that he'd need another day or so to make it to the forest.

Rydel sighed and looked back outside. The rain didn't seem quite as heavy, but it was more than enough to put him off the idea of going out in it just yet. Rummaging through his backpack, he came across the herb set he'd been given and brightened up briefly. The assortment of dried flowers, leaves and oils were commonly used for treating minor injuries or illnesses, and one or two of them were particularly good for burns.

His triumphant smile faded abruptly on realising that he couldn't actually do anything with the herbs without hot water to steep them in. With a quiet grumble, he packed them away again and settled for using a cool damp cloth instead.

By the time he was done, things had begun to brighten up a bit; the rain had slackened to a light drizzle, the clouds were beginning to break up in the distance, and he could hear birds chirping in the tree's branches. Now seemed a good time to get on the move again. Maybe he'd be able to reach the forest by evening if he put on a good pace.

Feeling somewhat less downcast, Rydel packed up quickly, broke down the tent, and was soon on his way again. Even the lingering rain wasn't spoiling his mood; his usual good humour was reasserting itself rapidly now he was on the move again. The High Forest was looming ahead of him, a dark shadow on the horizon, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of exploring it.

Luck seemed to be smiling on him as the day wore on. As he tramped on through the long grass, stretching his muscles, the aches he'd woken with began to fade and a little spring appeared in his step. The rain stopped altogether around highsun, although a light cover of clouds remained, and he pulled back his hood to enjoy the breeze. He didn't bother to stop for a meal; trail rations were easy enough to eat on the move.

As the afternoon wore on and the High Forest grew ever closer, Rydel's bouyant mood gave way to a touch of apprehension. He began paying closer attention to his surroundings. His friends had warned him that failing to watch the world around him, especially in the Forest, was asking for something unpleasant to happen.

Everything seemed a little quieter; even the small creatures he'd glimped scampering around were subdued, and the rustling of the grass in the breeze was faint. He shivered a little. This was so unlike everything he'd grown up with that it felt almost… alien. At least in Everlund he knew that there were hundreds of people around him, that he couldn't ever get into more trouble than he could handle. Here in the wilderness, there was nobody but himself to rely on.

Not that he was about to turn back for such a feeble reason as that.

Finally, as the afternoon slipped into evening, he reached the first of the great, age-old trees that made the High Forest what it was. He stopped, his gaze drawn up to the shadowtop's crown of leaves sixty feet above, and tentatively reached out to rest one hand against the rough, ridged bark.

At that moment, the sun broke through the clouds as it dipped towards the western horizon, bathing the scene in a deep golden light. Rydel glanced over his shoulder at it, then turned to look into the forest. The quiet, timeless beauty of it all charmed a smile from him, and a little surge of triumph. He'd reached it, and that had been his first goal.

…Finding other people would have to wait until tomorrow, he decided, as a wave of fatigue washed over him. He'd pushed himself a bit harder today than the past two days, and that on top of his nerves and high spirits were combining to make him very tired indeed.

With the light beginning to fade, he set up camp amongst the roots of the shadowtop tree. For some reason, it felt safer to him than just picking a clear spot somewhere under the eaves of the forest. The last rays of sunlight disappeared just as he finished, and with a sigh of relief he ducked into the tent and tied down the flap before settling down on his bedroll. He fell asleep almost before he'd pulled the blanket over himself.

* * *

><p>The next morning dawned cool and somewhat misty, although Rydel slept somewhat longer than usual and thus missed the dawn altogether. Utterly unconcerned about this, and feeling much better for the long rest, he wasted very little time in setting out again. The forest's depths seemed to beckon, drawing him in to see what he could find.<p>

The main thing that caught his attention was how different all the sounds seemed. The trees rustled in the wind, birdsong came from every direction, and insects frequently buzzed past. Back in Everlund, Rydel reflected, he _had_ heard all these sounds, but the sound of a bustling city had overlaid them all, muffling them severely. Here, they were all that could be heard save his own footsteps. It was… odd.

He kept a careful lookout, trying to bear in mind all the warnings he'd been given about the kinds of dangerous creatures that lived in this environment, but the forest itself was forever drawing his attention. Here was a stand of berry bushes, beginning to flower; beyond them rose ancient oak trees of a size he'd never imagined; a little further on grew a patch of scrubby, fernlike herbs he recognised as excellent insect repellents.

This was a fascinating new world, and the more he wandered within it, the more he wanted to know about it. What was the name of that deer that skittered off into the underbrush almost before he'd seen it? Why were those moths gathering so thickly around the laspar trees? What was the plant he'd passed, with such a brightly coloured stem and flower, and could it be used for anything?

By the time he pitched his camp that night, his head was more full of questions than it had ever been. The High Forest had so much to teach, and the sheer lack of knowledgeable people around to ask for explanation was mildly vexing. In a bid to forget his frustration for a while, he settled down on his bedroll, head resting on his arms, and lost himself in his thoughts.

Nothing particularly exciting had happened today; the most dangerous thing he'd seen was a stoat - or it might have been a ferret, he wasn't sure from the brief glimpse he'd got - but it had been more interesting than any regular day in Everlund.

He'd worked hard at making barrels because it was expected of him, and he wasn't half bad at it… but it had never been something that really held his interest. He'd been used to having others around, to making his way through crowds and sitting in rooms with a multitude of loud, chattering, laughing people. After only four days of being alone, he found himself relishing the peace and quiet. Even aches from the exercise and a sunburnt face couldn't spoil his mood.

_Things might change,_ he thought, _but right now I'm enjoying this._ That was his last thought before sleep overtook him. The gods seemed to be watching over him that night; despite the number of living things that roamed the forest in the darkness, not even the smallest creature crept in to disturb his rest.

* * *

><p>His travels the next day began quietly, or as quietly as any day could begin when one was woken by a chorus of birdsong. As he set off, he couldn't help but smile at the cheeky little sparrows that had hopped in to peck at the crumbs he'd left behind. They seemed almost completely unafraid of him.<p>

That wasn't the case for the other birds he saw perched on the nearby undergrowth, though; they took off at his approach no matter how quietly he tried to come up to them. Somewhat disappointed, he set off again, intent on finding at least some trace of helpful people before the end of the day.

The morning passed in a similar fashion to yesterday; more plants he couldn't identify, more animals only half-seen as they darted away through the underbrush, more quiet rustling from the treetops in the wind. It wasn't thrilling in any sense of the word, but to the young wanderer, it was… fitting.

Just before highsun, however, the quiet was shattered by the howl of what could only be a wolf in severe pain.

Rydel stopped short, then made for where the sound had come from, as best he could guess. He couldn't just ignore something so clearly in pain. Cracking twigs underfoot in a most unranger-like fashion, he picked up the pace as he caught the sounds of growling and snarling from ahead. His heart was racing; from what he'd been told, not many things were willing to start a fight with a wolf. And anything that _was_ willing… He slowed slightly, groped for his bow, and nocked an arrow ready to draw and fire if anything appeared suddenly.

The cries of the injured wolf grew louder as Rydel hurried on; it couldn't be far away now. It was beginning to sound angrier, too, and for the first time he wondered if it would be just as likely to attack him as anything else. He gripped his bow a little tighter and set his jaw. He didn't like the idea of just shooting it, but if there was no other way…

And then he broke through a patch of brushwood into a clearing - and the wolf was there, not twenty feet away.

It was bigger than he'd imagined, and he came to a halt, startled, as he took in the situation. It was slumped in the leaf litter, trying and failing to rise and getting angrier with each attempt. Foam mingled with blood dripped from its jaws, and it snarled angrily even as it fought for breath. The cause of the injury was clear; an arrow protruded from its flank, and from the amount of blood matting the fur around it had pierced deeply into some vital organ.

Uncertainly, Rydel took a few steps forward, lowering his bow. Even if it was dangerous, it was hurt, and seeing a creature so helpless made him want to do _something_ to help.

He had covered half the distance when a shout from behind made him freeze in his tracks.

"Don't you move _another godsdamned step_!"


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The speaker shoved through the bushes, and then Rydel felt a hand on his shoulder, yanking him away from the wolf. "Are you mad, or just plain stupid?"

It was an older man in the typical green and brown of a ranger, Rydel saw as he stumbled back a little from the force of the shove. He was about to reply, but hesitated when he realised the newcomer wasn't even looking at him. Instead, the man's gaze was locked on the wolf as he reached for his bow, a grim expression on his face.

"Wait - you're going to just kill it?" Rydel burst out, rather shocked by this apparent callousness. "It's hurt!"

"Who do you think shot it in the first place?" the stranger snapped. Without another word he nocked an arrow, drew and fired, ending the wolf's struggles instantly.

Rydel gaped at him, aghast. "How could you - it was - you killed it!"

"About time, too. I've been after it for two days." The ranger knelt beside the dead wolf, gently beginning to pull the two arrows free. He glanced back over his shoulder just enough to acknowledge the shaken young man. "And you're damn lucky I caught up to it in time, boy. This beast's been suffering from the worst case of the foamjaws sickness I've ever seen." He pulled the second arrow free and cleaned them both off by jabbing them into the ground repeatedly.

"Foamjaws?" Rydel swallowed hard. "I… didn't realise. I mean - I thought that was because it was hurt."

"Then you've a lot to learn, if you want to survive." The ranger calmly took out a set of hunting knives and began skinning the wolf, intent enough on the task that he didn't even look up, although he carried on talking as casually as if they were sitting in a tavern. "Come to that, what are you even doing here? You're a city boy - from Everlund, I'm guessing."

"Well, I…" Faced with this native of the forest, Rydel found himself feeling rather embarrassed at his own ignorance. "I was… I was hoping to find someone to teach me to be a ranger," he blurted out hurriedly.

The snort of cynical amusement in response was not encouraging. "So you just struck out and hoped for the best? Tymora must have been smiling on you, or you'd have wandered into something much worse than me."

The young man hung his head, cheeks burning with shame as he realised just how foolhardy he'd been. "I'm sort of gathering that now," he mumbled.

"Hmph." There was silence for a little while as the stranger worked, occasionally brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand, while Rydel looked on a little uncomfortably. Once he was done, the older man got to his feet and regarded what was left of the wolf. "You never told me your name, lad."

"Wha- oh. Um, I'm… my name's Rydel."

He jumped a little as the ranger turned sharply, looking at him properly for the first time. It seemed for a brief moment as though the older man had seen a ghost. "What did you say?"

Baffled and a little unnerved by the intent gaze he was suddenly being subjected to, Rydel repeated his name. "What's yours, then?" he added, somewhat defensively.

The ranger blinked and shook his head a little, letting out a shaky breath.

"Tarl Felfaer," he said quietly.

* * *

><p>It was possibly one of the biggest shocks Tarl had ever had in his life. Even in his wildest dreams, this was something he had never imagined… after all this time, he had given up all thoughts of ever seeing his son again. A pang of old loss, only half-healed even after all this time, went through him as he took in the sight.<p>

There was no denying it; Rydel had taken strongly after Mianna, right down to the same shade of hair - that vivid shade that Tarl could have picked out of a crowd of thousands. Memories rose up that he'd thought long forgotten, and with them came the realisation that he had never seen his son's first steps, heard his first words…

He coughed and turned away on realising how tight his throat was getting. In an attempt to salvage his dignity, he bent to pick up the wolf's pelt and rolled it into a neat bundle before throwing it over his shoulder. "You should be heading back to Everlund, lad," he said gruffly. "The Forest's dangerous."

"I know - I mean, I know it's dangerous, but I want to stay. I want to learn." There was a note of pleading in Rydel's voice. "That's why I'm even here. I was looking for someone to teach me. You live here, you'd know someone who'd be willing… wouldn't you?"

Tarl swore under his breath and faced the young man again, struggling inwardly with the urge to just walk away from this living reminder of everything he'd lost. "You don't just _decide_ you're going to be a ranger, lad. You need some kind of sense of the wild, and all you've shown is a talent for nearly getting yourself killed."

"How will I know if I do or don't, if nobody'll teach me?" Rydel was clearly a little disheartened by this reception, but he was standing his ground nonetheless. "Look… if you can't or won't teach me, tell me who will, and I'll find them. But I'm not going home without even trying."

_This isn't a game. People _die_ out here, and you can't rely on someone older or smarter coming to save you._ Tarl took a breath to respond, but the words died on his lips as he met Rydel's eyes, and saw the quiet determination there. He hesitated, uncertain, and a voice seemed to echo within his mind, soft but deep… a voice he knew, but had rarely heard.

_He'll do this no matter what you say. The path of the ranger is what he's born to. You're his father, Tarl Felfaer; _be_ a father to him, and teach him the things you once longed to have him learn from you._

Although the voice was gentle, it carried a ring of authority that he dared not argue with. As the last echo faded, he felt the little holy symbol hanging beneath his clothes radiate gentle warmth for a brief moment. The old ranger's posture slumped almost imperceptibly, and he sighed. "You'd best come back with me, then," he said reluctantly, shouldering the wolf pelt and setting off for the old cave he called home. A few moments later, he heard Rydel following rather tentatively - and clumsily.

"First lesson's going to be teaching you to walk without snapping every twig you see," he muttered grumpily. Despite his surly attitude, however, there was a little flicker of hope in his soul. _Maybe… maybe I _can_ put things right, a little._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** For those not aware, "foamjaws" is the Forgotten Realms name for rabies.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**A/N:** As ever, thanks to Rilwen and Lycaenion for betaing. And thank you to everyone who's stuck with the story so far; it's hard to motivate myself sometimes, but I don't plan to leave this story hanging forever.

* * *

><p>Apparently determined to begin the lessons as quickly as possible, Tarl put on a decent pace throughout the afternoon. It was very tiring for Rydel, especially in the more thickly overgrown areas, where he was frequently snagged by branches that Tarl seemed to breeze past. "Got to get used to walking," was the ranger's response when the slightly out-of-breath young man hesitantly asked what the rush was. "And this isn't that fast, either."<p>

Rydel decided not to argue with that, however much his muscles were starting to ache again. Reminding himself of how long he'd taken just to get to the forest, he nodded and followed when the older man set off again. From what he could see, they were making for what at first looked like a stone outcropping.

It soon became apparent, however, that it was more like a long line of low cliffs running east to west, with one or two small caves that Rydel would have liked to stop and explore. _Maybe another time,_ he thought, plodding on behind Tarl quietly. At least following the line of the cliffs was a little easier; there was a clear path running alongside the rock, which meant no more getting caught by branches or thorns.

As the sun began to disappear behind the trees, they passed a broad stream and came around a spur of rock that jutted out just where the cliff began to turn south. Rydel paused as he turned the corner, taking in the area half-hidden behind the spur.

A drystone wall perhaps four feet high surrounded a large yard, of which a large, fenced-off portion was taken up by a flourishing kitchen garden. Hoofprints marked the close-packed earth of the rest of the yard, and a small outhouse stood in one corner. Various tools were scattered around, and a bucket or two stood by the wall.

Behind it all, a solid wooden door and two windows were set into the face of the cliff itself. Tarl crossed the yard and pushed open the door, revealing a glimpse of a tidy room, before pausing in the doorway and looking back at Rydel. "You coming, or just going to stand and look?"

"Sorry." The young man stumbled a little as he hurried over. "I was just sort of… impressed. You did all this by yourself?"

"Ha, I'd be lying if I said I did. No, most of it was done a long time ago, with plenty of help." Tarl put down the wolf pelt he'd been carrying, and set his bow and pack aside. "Come in, no point standing there in the doorway."

Rydel obeyed, looking around curiously as he shrugged off his haversack with some relief.

The cave was quite spacious; three or four people could easily have made a home here without feeling cramped. In one back corner stood a bed piled high with blankets, and beside it a sizeable storage chest. The other corner was partitioned off somewhat with canvas, and seemed to be mostly for storage. A cooking area was set under one of the windows, with a number of barrels and boxes stacked neatly along the wall. The opposite window illuminated what was clearly a space for crafting; a bundle of half-finished arrows, some small tools lying on the workbench and a nearby tanning rack made that fairly clear.

It was clearly a place that had been lived in for a long time, and shaped around one person's preferences. There were no decorations, nothing was enhanced beyond reliable function, but the entire room radiated a sense of solid, comforting security.

"Well, what do you think?"

Rydel jumped and gave Tarl a sheepish smile. "It seems very different from home," he ventured, "but I think I like it."

"Good, because you'll be seeing it a lot." Tarl went rummaging for a good-sized empty barrel, and began manoeuvring it outside. "Grab those buckets, we'll need to hurry while we've still got the daylight."

Not quite certain what the hurry was, but eager to find out, Rydel picked up the buckets and followed.

The next fifteen minutes or so were spent filling the barrel with cold streamwater. By the time it was full enough for Tarl, Rydel had actually lost count of the number of trips he'd made, and his arms were somehow hurting even more than the rest of him.

The wolf hide went into the barrel, weighed down by a few stones to keep it under the water, and Tarl rinsed his hands in the remnants of the last bucket. He must have noticed Rydel's bemusement as he glanced up, because he explained briefly, "Got to soak a pelt before you can tan it. No point wasting it, either, before you ask. Took it because it wasn't doing the beast any good any more." He seemed rather subdued, and Rydel understood for the first time just how unhappy the old ranger really was about the wolf's death.

There was very little conversation for the rest of the evening; Rydel didn't want to ask a whole lot of questions before his new teacher seemed ready to answer them, and Tarl wasn't volunteering anything right now.

The last thing said that night, as Rydel climbed into his bedroll, was, "Guess we'll have to start looking at getting a bed made for you, lad." It wasn't a particularly extravagant statement of hospitality, but the young man smiled nevertheless. Welcoming or not, Tarl had accepted that he'd be staying for a while.

_I'm sure we'll get along well enough in time._

* * *

><p>There was a quiet snuffling sound, and something brushed Rydel's face. He wrinkled his nose and rolled away from it a little. The noise came again, accompanied by warm breath, and he jerked away. Opening his eyes, he came face to face - or muzzle - with something only an inch or two from his nose. This woke him up fully in an instant, as he yelped and scrambled away from the strange creature.<p>

A chuckle came from the cooking area, where Tarl was stirring a sizzling skillet. "For shame, lad, he'll do you no harm."

Rydel took a better look at the creature, and felt himself blushing fiercely at having been startled. It was a small, dark-haired pony, of the kind that was sometimes spotted wandering wild around the Silver Marches. There was an inquisitive look in its dark eyes as it trotted over to him with a whicker.

Unable to help himself, the young man laughed and gave the friendly animal a pat. "I just didn't expect to wake up with him so close."

"You'll get used to it, soon enough. He's always curious about visitors."

"He seems it." Rydel got out of his bedroll and rolled it up neatly before putting it in a discreet corner with the rest of his things. The pony hovered nearby, watching the procedure with interest, and came over as soon as it was done, butting the young man gently with its head in a clear bid for attention. With a quiet chuckle, he gave in and began petting it. "Is he a pet of yours?"

"Pet? No, Amblecrown there's a good friend of mine, has been for years. Wanders around on his own half the time, but there's always shelter and food for him if he wants it, and he helps me as he can in return."

"Seems like a nice way to do it," Rydel offered, patting the pony's neck lightly.

"It works for us." Tarl shrugged and turned from the little stove, spooning the contents of the skillet onto two earthenware plates. "Come on, food's done and there's things to do today."

"What things?" Rydel asked as he sat down at the table. The smell of meat fried in its own juices and mixed with various leftovers suddenly reminded him that he was hungry, and he tucked in with gusto.

Tarl didn't seem in any hurry to answer. He headed outside with Amblecrown, and came back in once the pony seemed content to stay there and enjoy the carrots that had been left for him. Settling down to his own meal, the ranger remained quiet for some time before nodding towards the barrel they'd filled the previous evening.

"Got to work on that pelt today, for one thing," he said thoughtfully. "Needs a good cleaning to get all the blood out before we start tanning it. After that we'll see about getting a bit done on the garden."

Rydel nodded slightly, stifling his disappointment that they weren't going to be doing anything exciting like hunting. _Still,_ he thought as he cleaned his plate with a piece of bread, _all in good time._


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**A/N:** As ever, many thanks to Rilwen and Lycaenion for beta-reading for me. Many thanks also to everyone who's been following this story; it's incredibly encouraging to see that people like it that much. Reviews are always welcome - I like to know what I'm doing right and what people think could be improved. Thank you for reading!

* * *

><p>"Hold steady," Tarl breathed, watching the arrow trained on the hare nearby. "Wait for it, wait…" The hum of the bowstring sounded in almost the same instant that the hare, finally aware of its danger, sprang.<p>

The archer was faster.

Rydel laughed triumphantly as he stepped out to collect the fallen creature. "I'm getting better at this," he said, pulling the arrow free.

"You are, at that," Tarl replied approvingly, straightening up from his hiding place. "You'll be better than me with a bit more work. Seems you've the knack for it." Rydel positively glowed at the praise, and to hide his surge of glee he quickly set about the task of cleaning the hare out. It wasn't as efficient a job as he'd seen Tarl do, but he was improving quickly with practice.

It had been several months since he'd first met the older ranger, but the time had flown by. Basic tracking and travelling skills, plant lore, the intricacies of hunting and butchering; all these and more had been solidly pounded into Rydel through daily lessons, both spoken and practical.

And, of course, fighting skills. Tarl was no mean archer, but he favoured the use of two blades for combat. Rydel had frequently been thoroughly pummelled in practice sessions, and was firmly convinced that he'd never be the swordsman his teacher was. Not that he minded all that much; he preferred archery anyway, and against larger targets than a hare he was becoming a dangerous foe.

Rydel abruptly became aware of the fact that Tarl wasn't in the clearing any more. He silently cursed himself for having missed the man's departure, knowing this was a test of his observational skills, and immediately strained his senses to the limit to try to catch Tarl sneaking up on him even as he continued to clean out the hare, tossing the innards to one side.

Feeling a presence behind him, the young man twisted suddenly, but not quite quickly enough to avoid being seized by the shoulder. Once again his mentor had been just a bit too quick and sneaky.

"Still too slow," Tarl chided, letting go. "What if that'd been an orc or something?"

Rydel waggled the hunting blade in his hand. "I'd have given him a taste of this."

"Bold words for a lad who's never even seen one."

"Haven't you been teaching me to strike at the first hint of danger? I don't forget all your lessons a short song after they get repeated to me."

"Get on with you," Tarl retorted, hiding a smile at the cheeky grin Rydel gave him. "We'll still be here after nightfall if you sit there jabbering."

"I'm almost done." A few more cuts, and the hare was bundled up ready for processing back at the cave. "There." With his knives cleaned and packed away, Rydel bounced back to his feet, still wearing that almost irrepressible smile. "Shall we?"

Tarl mock-scowled at him and began to lead the way. It was late afternoon, and he was looking forwards to getting back and settling down to a hot meal. Once or twice he found himself having to glance back to check Rydel was still there, and smiled briefly. The boy had very quickly grasped the trick of walking silently in a forest once he'd been shown how. Much of it was to do with stepping in "elven-fashion"; setting the toes and ball of the foot down first, in an almost prowling gait, made it far easier to control the sound.

Tarl felt a little surge of pride. _He's got the forest in his blood,_ he thought. _My boy._ He'd made the decision to keep it to himself - the last thing he wanted was awkwardness and questions - but nonetheless he was thrilled to have Rydel with him.

A harsh growl echoed through the forest, seizing his attention, and his mood changed in an instant. "Mind yourself, lad."

Rydel stopped dead. "What -?"

"Can't be certain, but I think I know what that was. Keep your bow ready. We're going after it." Tarl plunged into the trees, and Rydel followed, pulling his bow from his back and fumbling for an arrow.

"Is it dangerous?"

"Very."

"Should we be trying to -"

"Yes. Now silence, if it hears us we're in trouble." The pace increased, and so did Rydel's unease. The growling was becoming more frequent, and to him sounded like a beast he'd never heard before - a big one. The noise was less unnerving, though, than the expression on Tarl's face; it was set as though carved from stone.

The young man shuddered a little.

Finally, they dropped down into the shelter of the undergrowth, and slipped up to the edge of a clearing. A figure sat there that seemed half hyena, half human, and beside it the remains of a fresh carcass, from which chunks were being torn and eaten.

Rydel glanced at Tarl with a puzzled expression.

"Gnoll." The word came out as a flat murmur. "Filthy beasts. Reckon you can put an arrow through its head?"

"Not without being seen."

Tarl inched his sword and dagger from their sheaths. "Shoot it where you can, then, and I'll take it on."

"That thing must be seven feet tall!"

"I've slain its kind before, without the advantage of surprise. Do as you're told, lad, and we might survive."

Rydel fell silent. There was a look in Tarl's eyes that chilled him. He'd never seen anything like it before. After a moment's hesitation, the young man nodded and set arrow to string.

The gnoll looked up from its meal sharply as the arrow arced out from the bushes, striking it solidly in the side. It threw back its head, letting out a roar of mingled pain and rage, and scrambled awkwardly to its feet just as Tarl exploded from the foliage, blades flashing in the evening sun.

Rydel was frozen in shock. The battle that had just erupted in the clearing was pure savagery. Tarl was barely avoiding getting his limbs or head torn clean off, and the gnoll was getting progressively bloodier with every slash of the ranger's blades. He felt an overpowering urge to help, but blundering in there would probably get him or his old companion killed, and so he remained where he was, crouched in the bushes and shivering as the two combatants returned thrust for bite, slash for cut, locked in the dance of death.

A choked-off yelp and a crash finally compelled him to look up again, and he let out a shaky breath of relief. Tarl stood over the twitching corpse of the gnoll, bleeding from numerous cuts and scrapes, but not in serious need of help.

Rydel stood up and approached hesitantly. "Are you… going to be all right?" he said weakly. It was a stupid question to ask, he knew, but what could he really say to someone staring at their fallen enemy with such an expression of loathing?

"I'm fine. Nothing that won't heal soon enough." Tarl wiped off his weapons and put them away.

"…I've never seen you like that before."

"Never seen me face a gnoll before." Tarl spat on the corpse.

"Why do you hate them so much?"

The fire-haired boy almost wished he hadn't asked as Tarl rounded on him. There was a bleakness in the old ranger's face now that Rydel couldn't ever remember seeing.

"These beasts are the foulest scum to walk these lands, lad. They kill for the love of killing, and whoever they don't kill they enslave and torture. They eat the dead, defile graves, they're savage even to their own kind. Not one of these beasts deserves to live, and so I've taken it on myself to wipe out any I find."

"Did they hurt you?" Rydel knew he shouldn't be asking these things, but he badly wanted to know just what had fuelled the rage he'd witnessed.

There was silence for a few moments. Tarl stared at the dead gnoll, apparently unwilling to meet the young man's eyes.

"…They killed my wife," he said hoarsely, and then turned for home.

A knot of guilt settled in Rydel's stomach as he followed. _I shouldn't have asked._ He decided not to talk any more about it; he had no right to go dragging up memories that clearly hurt Tarl so much, and had already got more than enough answers to explain.

A fierce blaze of loyalty sprang up in his chest as he watched the solid man trudging ahead of him - the man who was teaching him all he'd ever wanted to know, the ranger who seemed to regard him as the next best thing to the son he'd never had. _I'll never hesitate again when I face a gnoll, I promise,_ he vowed_. For the sake of your wife and for everything you've done for me._


End file.
